Chapter 30 #2
The flickering firelight caught the stubble along his jaw, casting him in a rugged, charming light.
Their eyes met, and he caught her unabashedly staring.
A playful smirk crept across his face. “See something you like?” he drawled, the teasing lilt of his voice striking a delightful chord within her.
In response, Enya playfully tossed a cherry tomato in his direction. He swiftly caught it midair and popped it into his mouth with a cheeky wink that made her heart flutter. The moment felt electric, like something was coming and she should prepare herself for the impact.
Gael let out an exaggerated groan, “Christ, you two are insufferable.”
Enya stuck her tongue out at him, and Rowan simply laughed, a sound warm and low that sent a ripple of joy through her. She loved when he was like this… Happy.
He pulled her against his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a possessive yet tender gesture.
His lips brushed against her temple in a sweet, fleeting kiss, making her skin tingle with warmth.
“Get used to it.” His tone was threaded with a sincerity that made her heart do a weird fluttering thing.
The soft sounds of laughter floated through the air, mingled with the delightful smells of sizzling steaks and fresh vegetables, and Enya took a deep breath, savoring this moment.
It was the kind of ordinary evening that held an extraordinary weight in her heart, a reminder that perhaps there were spaces in life where joy and connection reigned supreme.
This is exactly where I belong.
When the evening wound down like a slow, contented sigh that lingers in the air long after the laughter has faded, and the clatter of dishes being washed and dried gave way to silence.
Enya glanced around, her eyes scanning the ranch yard looking for Rowan.
She could see Dawsyn and Jericho disappear into the bunkhouse, their bickering muffled by distance.
A quick look over her shoulder showed her that Gael had retreated to the quiet of the porch, no doubt to call Joel and talk about their day.
Calloway and Colson were headed toward the barn, their voices low and punctuated by the occasional rough chuckle.
The ranch was settling into the hushed, intimate stillness that only comes when the day’s work is done, and her man was missing.
He’s like Rain returning to his stall at the end of the day.
She found him exactly where she knew he would be, hunched over his desk in his office in the barn.
His shoulders were a rigid line beneath his worn flannel, the fabric pulling taut over the corded muscle of his arms as he scribbled something in the margin of an invoice.
His brow was furrowed in that way it always was when he was lost in thought.
She watched him for a long moment as his jaw clenched and released in rhythm with whatever calculations he was making.
There was something achingly, beautifully, vulnerable about him like this—stripped of the easy confidence he wore like armor, and the quiet authority that made men twice his size follow him down the war-trail into the horrid places of the world that didn’t bear thinking about.
But here, in the soft dark of his office, he was just Rowan. Just hers.
She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, and let herself breathe it in for a heartbeat before speaking. “You’re gonna strain something, sitting like that.” She knew the way his body locked up when he was stressed, and the way he’d push through pain just to prove he could.
He didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
A laugh huffed out of her, dry and knowing. “Liar.”
This time, he did glance up, just for a second, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable before he dropped his gaze back to the paperwork.
But she’d seen the exhaustion lurking there, and the quiet battle he was waging against himself.
Enya pushed off the frame and crossed the room.
Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers curling into the warm, solid weight of him, her thumbs pressing into the knots of tension coiled beneath his skin.
Rowan exhaled sharply, a sound that was half groan, half surrender, his head dropping forward as if the simple touch had severed the last thread holding him upright.
The pen clattered to the desk, rolling away as his hands came up, covering hers, his calloused fingers threading between her own.
His skin was warm, but rough in places where the work of the ranch had left its mark, and she could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, the way he was fighting to stay still beneath her touch.
“Darlin’,” he murmured, with a rough edge in his throat, like he’d been holding it back for hours.
“Hush.” She worked her fingers deeper, her thumbs circling in slow, deliberate strokes, feeling the way he melted under her touch, the resistance in his body unraveling like a frayed rope.
His breath hitched, and his shoulders rolled forward as if he could somehow get closer to the pressure, to the relief she was offering.
It was intoxicating, this power of knowing she could undo him so completely with nothing more than her hands.
“You look after everyone on this ranch, including me,” she said softly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she leaned in, her body curving over his.
The scent of him was stronger here, warm and male and all Rowan, and it made her dizzy.
She wanted to press closer, to chase the shiver that ran through him when she spoke. “Who looks after you, Rowe?”
His hand tightened over hers, stilling her movements. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, might retreat back into that stubborn shell of his, but then his voice came, low and rough. “You. You do.”
The words sent a ripple through her, a warmth that spread from her chest outward, because she understood what he meant. That he was letting her in.
Enya bent, pressing her lips to the back of his neck, just below the line of his hair, where the skin was soft and warm.
She felt the way his breath caught, the way his body tensed for just a second before relaxing into her.
“Yes,” she whispered against his skin, and she could taste the salt of him, the faintest hint of sweat from the day’s work. “Yes, I do.”
Rowan turned in his chair, his movement sudden and fluid as his hands slid to her waist when he pulled her onto his lap.
She went willingly, her legs straddling his hips, her skirt riding up her thighs as she settled against him.
His hands were warm through the fabric of the dress she’d changed into for supper.
She loved that his fingers splayed over her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts in a way that made her breath stutter.
She could feel the hard length of him beneath her, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and when his mouth found hers, it wasn’t desperate or hungry—it was slow, and deep, and impossibly profound.
His lips moved against hers with a reverence that made her ache, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth until she parted for him, letting him in.
The kiss was a slow burn, a lazy exploration that had her fingers tangling in his hair, and her body arching into his.
He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something sweet, and she couldn’t get enough.
His hands slid up her back, one tangling in the loose waves of her hair, the other pressing between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.
She could feel the steady thud of his heart against her chest, the way his breath hitched when she rocked against him just enough to make him groan into her mouth.
When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and unsteady against her lips. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and she could see the fight in him—the battle between what he craved and what he thought he should do. But for once, the craving was winning.
“I love you.” He peered into her eyes as if he were afraid she might disappear if he said it any louder. “I love you, Enya, more than you will ever possibly understand.”
Her heart started to beat in time with his, as if they were two halves of the same rhythm. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks, the slight rasp of it sending a shiver down her spine.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, and the world felt like it had fixed itself on its axis, and it was terrifyingly beautiful to both hear and say those words.
Rowan’s arms tightened around her, his hands sliding down to her hips, his fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp.
Then, in one fluid motion, he stood, lifting her with him as if she weighed nothing.
She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, her arms looping around his neck, her breath catching as he carried her out of the office, his stride sure and steady despite the way his heart was hammering against her chest.
When they got to the house, it was quiet around them, the only sound the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots and the soft, ragged edge of their breathing.
He didn’t speak, didn’t break the spell weaving between them, and she didn’t either.
She just held on, her lips pressed to the warm skin of his throat, tasting the pulse that jumped there when he turned down the hallway toward his room.